TwentyFive. Vanessa.

Sorry, it's taken me months! I don't even have an excuse, I'm sorry to whoever is still reading this.

It had been two weeks since her miscarriage now. She had been out of hospital for one. She couldn't remember much of her time there. The smell of linoleum, Nate's lips pressed hard up against her fingers and a numb, dull, still ache where there used to be life and movement.

Her mother took her home. She didn't let her argue, though she tried to, saying she'd go back to the flat. But her mother gave her a shrewd look and asked her where Nate was. Vanessa's mouth opened shut like a fish out of its tank.

"You're nineteen."

She tried to argue.

"You're nineteen."

She couldn't argue with that.

-----

She'd always hated it here. Her parents had always told her the town they'd be moving to was arty and alternative, but it wasn't the city and Vanessa was in love with the city and he couldn't bear to be parted from it. Some times she felt like she herself was a part of the city itself. The city was home.

More than that, her people were there. The last time she had sat at this window, she had been pining for Dan. Now she pined for Nate and she gave herself a little exhalation that was a bitter laugh. If the sixteen year-old her could see her now. Moping over some trust-fund rich bitch who had knocked her up then left her. How stupid had she been? Not only had she believed him when he said he loved her, but she had trusted him, she had allowed herself to feel for him in return.

Now she was left picking up the pieces – well, she would be if she could bend over, which she still couldn't, the swelling and pain and bandages were still too thick for that.

She was desperately lonely. She half-considered calling Marcy, the clingy, hysterical girl who was the only person who had talked to Vanessa when she had lived here before. She was ashamed of letting the thought occur to her really.

What ever happened to self-reliance? Independence? Cynicism? The three pillars of her persona had come crashing down and she had been underneath when they did.

-----

Things had got really bad. She was at Taco Bell. She was eating meat. And non-Fairtrade products. She was drinking a fucking Coke for chrissake.

She thought to herself. "This is what he has reduced me to." Then she laughed at herself for being such a snob, but hey, she was who she was.

Her mother was sitting across the table, with a wholly unsavoury look on her face. She had been giving Vanessa whatever she wanted since the miscarriage and since she had to drive her everywhere, this was definitely a perk. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Vanessa raised an eyebrow at her.

"Polyester" her mother hissed, "You know how I hate the Wests over-use of man-made fibres."

-----

She was in her sweats, watching America's Next Top Model on her laptop, thank god she'd thought to bring it, Tyra Banks would have been the final straw for her parents.

The doorbell rang, she ignored it, let someone else bother, she was wallowing in self-pity. Quite comfortably, she might add. She could here a familiar voice that she couldn't quite place. Her heart stopped at the thought of Marcy but it was too deep. She sat up, wincing. The voices were a bit raised. She could hear her father trying to shut the door, finally slamming it on whoever was there. She shifted on her bed so that she could look out the window and saw broad shoulders and straight light brown hair.

"Stop!" she screamed. "Stop!" And she hit the window in frustration. She looked about frantically, she'd never make it down there in time, she could hear her parents calling up to her, they thought she was in pain, her fingers fumbled open the catch on the window and the hot air hit her, she stuck her head out as far as she could get it, the pain in her belly blazing and her leg cramping.

"Stop!"

The figure turned and her door opened, her mother was pulling her back from the window, she was half-on, half-off the bed, her mother was pleading with her to lie back down, that she'd rip her stitches, green eyes met grey, she pulled back against her mother, finally hitting her to get her to stop.

"Please stop!"

The figure took a few tentative steps back towards the house, Vanessa could feel her father fuming in the doorway, her mother dithering behind her, trying to think of a way to pick her up and pull her back without touching her stomach, he was still looking up at her as he shuffled towards the house, his feet dragging in the pebbles that marked the driveway, her eyes pleaded with him. The doorbell rang again, she had no idea why he was ringing it. No-one moved.

"Take me downstairs."

No-one moved.

"NOW!"

-----

She could hear her parents murmuring next door. She and Hate weren't actually speaking, just sitting at opposite ends of the sofa in the middle of the messy living room, twiddling their thumbs.

He was first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry about what I did to you."

She didn't say anything back. They were silent for a few more moments.

"When I found you that night," he paused, his eyes focused on a spot of the floor with burning intensity, "I was so scared." A great shudder racked his body. "I thought" Another shudder. He tried again. "I thought." His voice broke and he had to stop his fingers pressed into his eyes.

For the first time, she looked across to him and shifted to that her hand was on his forearm. He lifted his head from his hands and took hers in his. The instinctively knew what to do, and on their sides on the sofa, their foreheads pressed and eyebrows knitting together, whispering "I'll never leave you ever again" to each other over and over again.